Party People
"You know that story, right? Once you experience something stimulating, your expectations keep rising."
"Expectations?"
"For example, after reading a novel, whether it was fun or not, you start hoping the author will write something even better next time. Or if you hear an amazing song from a wandering bard, when you meet them again and they just sing the same old tunes, you get this subtle dissatisfaction."
"So after spending a whole night burning the sheets with some rough guy, next time you wanna go two days straight pounding that bastard?"
Esen grinned slyly, shooting me a sidelong glance. I was so used to it by now that I didn't even react. Talk about a textbook case of ruined expectations.
Esen pouted, and Nidroga pointed at her like it was a spot-on observation.
"Crude analogy, but accurate. Most of us live with the identity of humans or elves—Homo sapiens types—but we live way longer than humans and can't blend with nature like elves. So for centuries, our pleasure thresholds just keep climbing like it does for ordinary folks. That's why dragons are basically hedonists by nature."
"Ah, that explains it."
"Exactly."
Nidroga nodded, then averted her eyes apologetically. We all nodded too, tangled up in party popper ribbons like a bunch of rainbow mummies.
Unfortunately, a glob of cream plopped down from Bilena Nitro's head, who was wearing an upside-down cake like a hat.
"That sure explains a hell of a lot about what we've been through."
The Dragon's Nest wasn't just some ancestral home or a colony of giant beasts. It was the lord's domain—the heart of dragon society, where the world's strongest creatures decided the fate of the world. And it was the ultimate resort and entertainment complex, running 24/7, 365 days a year, full throttle for a century straight, where dragons from across the globe gathered to party.
"Calling it 'home' is one thing."
It started in ancient times when dragons hiding among humans organized a gathering to combat the threat of the Demon King who had descended upon the world. From that assembly, history's first Dragon Lord—the 'master of the world's mightiest beings' that Captain Tomco had mentioned on the beach—was elected. He led the dragons brilliantly in battle alongside human kings, securing victory.
When the Demon King was sealed away impaled on the heroes' holy swords and peace returned to the world, that lord thought such threats could revive anytime, so they needed countermeasures. Among many ideas, the top priority was creating a decision-making body to mobilize the strongest creatures: his own kind.
So the Dragon Lord proposed they meet periodically in one place, just like when they'd first gathered to elect him. To exchange news, share knowledge, and coordinate on big issues.
But the dragons mostly recoiled with a "You gotten addicted to wearing the armband or what?" There were two reasons.
First, dragons are territorial animals like bears or tigers by nature. They get as uncomfortable with other kin hanging around—beyond mates and offspring—as if someone shoved a hand down their pants.
Second, it was boring. Most had come grudgingly, faces sour, dragged away from their amusements by the war. One lifelong serial philanderer who swore monogamy was on his twelfth honeymoon with his twelfth human partner. Another was in the middle of an unfinished fistfight with a massive monster. And some nutjob was on his first-ever brush with mortal danger, exploring the South Pole naked in elf form.
The lord saw hope in the second reason, apparently.
"Even the three great lords of the Dragon's Nest carry on the founding tradition, turning it into the most fun place in the world."
"Solved the 'don't wanna meet' complaints by making it a must-visit hotspot, huh."
"Thanks to that, their instinctive fear of each other as ecosystem rivals faded, and now it's a peaceful community where they even introduce their kids and eggs. Good for the world and for dragons."
"The lady we met on the beach... she's your mom? She doesn't seem the type for this kinda... explosive neighborhood."
Suddenly, an explosion boomed, making us flinch and whip around. A banner in international common tongue outside the hotel window kindly explained, putting us at ease.
Bomb-Eating Contest
Crazy bastards.
"...She doesn't look like she fits in with this rough crowd."
"Ah, Mom tends a farm. She wants everyone to live simply, doing fieldwork and raising sheep in the countryside. But not everyone digs rural-themed vacations."
"I like farms."
Nenya the elf grinned through gritted teeth. Who knew you could grin while grinding your teeth?
"I wish I'd crossed a farm-themed resort on my way here."
"Oh, wanna swing by tomorrow?"
"Of course I—That's not what I meant, idiot!"
We were war refugees smack in the middle of the festival. The first casualty? Nenya. Her fresh golden hair was gone, dyed a riot of tropical bird colors. Culprit: some lunatic handing out great seed cookies.
"That asshole stuck his hand out in the crowd and sprinkled this multicolored powder. Even washing with water won't get it off!"
"Ah, rapid dye fairy dust. No health risks, but he overdid it."
"So this goes back to normal, right? Right? Tell me it does—!"
Nidroga blinked, then evasively glanced at the others—a bad sign. Nenya's blood pressure spiked, and she keeled over.
But everyone looked about the same.
"My ears hurt."
The Monica sisters were still complaining about the ringing from the blaring street music. Bilena, unsure what to do with the cake hatting her head, sniffed the cream on her lips and recoiled.
"My tongue hurts. This shockingly sweet taste is a first—feels like I'll get diabetes right now."
"Tastes good to me."
Bilena stared blankly at the weirdo munching the cake. Reni, now sporting snazzy sunglasses from somewhere, was chewing a mouthful and mumbling approval.
"...Reni, are you insane?"
"Huh? The walking cake is talking!"
"...I'm not a cake, I'm Bilena. Did you eat something bad?"
"Yeah. Inhaled some funky smoke earlier? Kinda dizzy since ^then@."
Reni, who seemed fine, blinked, slowly lost balance, and collapsed into her pale-faced bestie Nenya's arms. With a super sleepy, satisfied look.
"Fuc#king shi...t···."
"Healer! Healer—!!"
...None critically injured, but the team had been roughed up by the dragon festival monster. While Nenya wailed hugging Reni—who was halfway to the great beyond—and the sisters were too deaf from tinnitus to hear as they healed their own ears...
Nidroga turned to the final victim. She sighed at me, forcibly clown-makeupped.
"What the hell happened in just five minutes?"
"Isn't leaving newbies unattended for five minutes here too much? Abandoning us for five whole minutes in a place like this—too much, right?"
"...Fair point. Sorry."
—————
"If you had such a dangerous monster seal, you should've brought it straight here."
I had plenty of excuses I wanted to fire back at the stern rebuke. Too many distractions slowing us down, six different party types happening simultaneously en route, someone spraying paint everywhere making signs hard to read, and Reni taking time to return from wherever...
But none made it past my lips. My head bowed automatically to the dignity, knees buckling on their own.
This guy's the lord.
His long white hair radiated ancient gravitas. The arms that hammered an anvil like a toy had muscles coiled like threatening ropes. Under the briefly set-aside hammer, a glowing red greatsword steamed like a volcano.
The man in a toga straight out of ancient god illustrations descended the forge's stairs slowly and stood before us. He extended a solemn hand to Nenya.
"I sense dangerous, explosive power inside. I've heard you came to the Dragon's Nest because there's no safe way to dispose of it. You've brought the threat to the right place and the right person. Well done. Hand it over."
His praise made it feel like we'd completed a mythic quest. Nenya took a deep breath, pulled out the monster seal I'd just passed her, and offered it.
"Great lord, it's an honor to—"
The white-haired dragon-man inspected the orb, then yelped and dropped it. It thudded heavily to the ground and started rolling toward the cliff-edge stairs below.
We all freaked, diving to grab it. The man flopped down with us, making a huge fuss like his soul nearly fled.
"Are you nuts?"
"No, what did I—"
"Knew your hair looked weird. Got a flower garden in your brain or what, elf? Calling me lord? If someone overhears—"
"He's my uncle, Eitryon. Watch your words too, Uncle."
"...I'll let it slide for Nidroga's sake."
The grouchy 'Eitryon' who stood, grumbling while checking for cracks, added:
"No matter how much I wander the world and rarely visit the Dragon's Nest, impersonating the lord is serious. Could get you killed."
"...Um, if I may, Nidroga said dragons back then didn't respect the lord that much···."
A euphemism for 'armband-wearing retard' treatment. Eitryon shook his head.
"The lord is the strongest dragon. Old-timers who cut contact and lived solo, maybe. But ignore hierarchy and act like a punk in this era, and the lord'll come smash your head even in hell. Sis doesn't look it, but she's a total warmonger."
"Warmonger?"
"Acts all pacifist on the surface, pretending to be high and mighty buried in some farm washing turnips. But catch her off-guard and she's... Did I ever tell you about stealing one cow and getting mauled for three days and nights, Nidroga? A species leader acting that petty—"
"Wanna die?"
Eitryon nearly dropped the seal again. I lunged, and we barely caught it together.
Never thought a porter like me would empathize with dragon terror, but we clutched hands, trembling, and looked back at the entrance.
The woman smiling with shadows on her face was none other than Nidroga's mom.
"So the Dragon Lord."
The sister swallowed hard.
"Is Nidroga's actual mom? For real? Not like 'all dragons are her daughters' figuratively, but literally?"
Nidroga nodded, munching a cookie. Reni innocently marveled at how amazing, but Nenya glared like why tell us now?
...I'd vote with Nenya. Nidroga excused:
"So much shocking stuff, planned to reveal bit by bit. Mom being lord doesn't change our mission anyway."
"My niece is humble. Trained not to expect special treatment as the lord's daughter."
Meanwhile, face-smashed Eitryon eyed the cookie plate, but snapped back to kneeling at mom's sharp glare.
"Not figuratively or tribally—my one and only daughter. So after escorting Captain Tomco and crew to medical, I came straight here. To thank you for getting along so well with my girl."
Mom smiled plainly, offering the cookie tray. Recalling our ordeals reaching this 'Dragon Forge' building—paint-free, unbroken cookies meant...
"Did you fly?"
"Walked."
...Absolute power. Nothing else describes it. Parting that festive chaos was harder than cleaving seawater. And if that authority offers cookies, someone should bravely sample.
Even if one party member had a cookie trauma, breeding bias against similar foods.
Nenya shook her head worriedly, but brave Reni quietly nibbled first. Then blinked repeatedly, mumbling:
"Fuc&king bom···."
"Oh dear. Seed processing didn't go as hoped?"
As Nenya wailed hugging the departing-again Reni, we politely declined the rest. Luckily, the lord didn't push.